


Old Tricks

by Innwich



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, Missing Scene, Spoilers for season 2 episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28114809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innwich/pseuds/Innwich
Summary: “I give my allegiance to no one.”What if Boba Fett had accepted another deal behind the Mandalorian’s back.(Missing scenes in Chapters 14 and 15)
Relationships: Boba Fett & Fennec Shand, Din Djarin & Boba Fett
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Old Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how Din’s team was way too stacked, having two top-tier mercenaries and all the New Republic, Mandalorian and Jedi friends he made along the way, while Moff Gideon had faceless stormtroopers and… robots??, and then the plot bunny happened and refused to leave me alone.

For a brief moment, Boba wondered if this was how he would die: At the hands of the Empire.

The Imperial cruiser loomed above him in the clouds, casting a shadow over the entirety of _Slave I_. The Imperials must have seen his ship, just as surely as he was seeing theirs. The cruiser’s hatch door closed after the four flying droids and the child. There was no way to retrieve the child now. _Slave I_ would be struck down by anti-craft cannons as soon as it approached the cruiser.

Boba had seen the energy bolt that struck the Mandalorian’s ship. He had no wish to become another smoking crater in the ground.

The cruiser rose slowly towards orbit. Boba reversed course to head back to ground. When he looked back, the cruiser had disappeared from the sky.

Boba eased _Slave I_ into a massive cave some distance away from the hill where he had confronted the Mandalorian. If the Empire wanted to launch another aerial attack, they would have to locate _Slave I_ first. Boba was turning off the engines when the ship’s holotransmitter lit up and bathed the cockpit in blue light. He had an incoming transmission. The caller code was one that he didn’t recognize. 

That was quick. His comm code was probably stored on some dusty Imperial terminal that hadn’t been seized and destroyed by the New Republic yet.

Boba made sure he was wearing his helmet before he accepted the transmission. “Boba Fett speaking.”

“It is you. It seems that reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated,” an amused voice said.

People rarely expressed amusement when they deal with him. Mostly trepidation and fear. Surprise was another common one, just before he shot them between their eyes. Boba had no idea who he was talking to. The transmission on the caller’s end was audio only. The hologram was showing blue static. He tweaked the settings on his holotransmitter, but no visual feed was being received.

“Imagine our surprise when your ship’s ping showed up on our database scanner.”

“Save the pleasantries. What do you want?” Boba said.

The caller chuckled. “I want many things, bounty hunter. The Core Worlds. The death of rebel scum. The return of the Empire. But right now, I require the service of a man of your skills and reputation. What is your price?”

“What are you willing to pay?” Boba said automatically.

When Boba met up with Fennec at the edge of the crater where the Mandalorian’s ship had exploded, the Mandalorian was searching in the debris of his ship. The Mandalorian wouldn’t find much there. His ship had been reduced to little more than dust. Some scraps had escaped the infernal produced by the ship’s ignited fuel, and they were blackened by the residual heat in the air.

“I’ve found us a job,” Boba said quietly to Fennec.

“What kind of job?” Fennec said.

“Imperial,” Boba said. “The job is to get the Mandalorian to that Imperial cruiser where the child is taken.”

Alarm flashed across Fennec’s eyes at his first word. She understood correctly that he meant the job had come from Imperials directly. 

Even before the fall of the Empire, some bounty hunters and mercenaries had refused to take jobs issued by the Empire. It had been one thing to take bounties from the then Imperial-affiliated Guilds, and another to accept orders from the Empire directly. Some had rejected the work due to moral objections, but for others, the reputation of Imperial officials as treacherous backstabbers had made them wary. Boba had worked for Vader directly, and while it had boosted Boba’s notoriety (and, with it, his rates) to heights unmatched by his father’s, it had also brought him to blows with the Darth himself in a few encounters that he had barely survived.

“You may opt out if you wish. I’ve accepted the job in my name only,” Boba said.

Fennec glanced at the Mandalorian, who was digging through debris with his gloved hands. “No. I owe a life debt to you. I’ve fought him before. You could use my help.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Boba knew better than to underestimate the Mandalorian; he had seen the Mandalorian kill a Krayt dragon on Tatootine. Boba would like to think that he had grown more careful, if not wiser, after his encounter with the Sarlacc.

The Mandalorian had found something in the debris. He dug up a beskar spear that had survived the explosion. As the Mandalorian trudged out of the crater, Boba strode forwards to meet him. To gain the Mandalorian’s trust, Boba showed him the chain code in his own armor. There was no reaction or flicker of recognition from the Mandalorian when he read the names of Boba and Boba’s father in the chain code. Boba then offered to help the Mandalorian retrieve the child.

“Until he is returned to you safely, we are in your debt,” Boba said.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian said. The tension seeped out of him as his shoulder sagged slightly. It would have gone unnoticed if not for Boba’s keen eyes.

Boba would tell him not to trust so easily if he were his kin.

Although Boba had had every intent to keep his promise when he had offered protection to the Mandalorian and the child, the Mandalorian had failed to return the armor to Boba. The deal with the Mandalorian had fallen through the moment Boba had retrieved the armor himself. Boba might be guilty of dishonesty, but not dishonor.

“Come. I’ll take you to my ship,” Boba said.

The Mandalorian brought the beskar spear and his jetpack with him. The rest of his belongings had been destroyed along with his ship. Boba opened the entry hatch of _Slave I_ , and, after letting Fennec board first, showed the Mandalorian to the onboard armory.

In additional to the arsenal that he had inherited from his father, Boba had amassed a vast collection of weapons in his travels. Some years ago, he had expanded the armory to span one half of the cargo hold. Guns were hung on pegboards installed on the walls, blades were kept in designated drawers, and explosives were locked in blast-proof compartments to avoid accidental detonation.

Boba secured the beskar spear in a rack next to the gaffi stick that he had acquired on Tatootine.

“I used to own a gun like this,” the Mandalorian said, gazing at an Amban sniper rifle mounted on a wall.

Boba hadn’t used his Amban sniper rifle since Tatootine. Its stopping power was impressive against humanoids and beasts alike and its disintegration blasts were immeasurably satisfying to watch, but Boba favored short-range engagement, for which his EE-3 carbine rifle was better suited.

“It is a good gun,” Boba said.

“Yes, it is,” the Mandalorian said. His words were surprisingly wistful; the wound of his recent loss was tender. If Boba had recalled correctly, the Mandalorian had wielded a Amban sniper rifle, which had likely been vaporized in the ship’s destruction. The Mandalorian didn’t reach out to touch the gun like Boba had thought he would. He put away his jetpack, and climbed up the ladder that led to the passenger hold. 

Their next stop was Nevarro, where the Mandalorian claimed to have contacts that would get him the coordinates to the Imperial cruiser where the child was held. The Mandalorian kept to himself in the passenger hold. Not a creature of comfort, the Mandalorian slept sitting upright in the stiff chairs, with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his helmet sitting firmly on his head. He only woke for food and water and the privy, and had to be shaken awake when they reached Nevarro.

After the Mandalorian left to visit his contacts at the local Bounty Hunter Guild hub, Boba went to a market nearby to purchase paint for his armor. Fennec offered to help him with painting his armor, but he declined. His missile had failed to hit the Imperial transport he had been aiming for on Tython, and it had concerned him. He would have to check whether the other weapon systems in his armor had been damaged by that buffoon in Mos Pelgo.

“This job would be done quicker if we were provided with the coordinates of the Imperial cruiser,” Fennec said, dissembling her sniper rifle for cleaning.

Boba adjusted the settings on a paint sprayer. It had been a while since he had used one of these. “The job isn’t about delivering the Mandalorian to the Empire. It’s about getting him onto that cruiser. Once there, he’ll retrieve the child, Moff Gideon will be killed in the struggle, and we’ll seize our prize from the dead Moff.”

Fennec looked up from the gas cartridge she had removed from her gun. “What prize?”

“An ancient Mandalorian artifact, the Darksaber. Whoever holds it can claim the title of Mand’alor, Ruler of Mandalore. The client wants the artifact,” Boba said.

“But it’s already in the hands of one of their own,” Fennec said.

“It’s not that simple. Imperial ships have been attacked by Mandalorian guerilla forces recently. The Mandalorians have gotten wind that the artifact is in Moff Gideon’s possession, and will stop at nothing to retrieve it. However, if the artifact goes missing after Moff Gideon is killed in a siege by a Mandalorian, the guerilla forces will turn their attention away from the Empire.”

“They’ll think the Mandalorian has the artifact,” Fennec said with growing realization.

Boba nodded. “Mandalorian factions have been fighting among themselves long before the civil wars. They won’t believe the Mandalorian if he denies he has the artifact. They’ll think he’s hidden it with his faction.”

“Then it’ll spark another civil war among Mandalorians,” Fennec said.

“And the Empire keeps the artifact without the unwanted attention,” Boba said.

Fennec let out a long breath. “Imperials are every bit as duplicitous as I’ve heard.”

“It was how they crumbled the Old Republic and built the Empire,” Boba said, spraying paint over his vambraces.

Boba had finished drying the new paint on his armor by the time the Mandalorian returned to _Slave I_ with a New Republic marshal. The marshal sized Boba and Fennec up as soon as she stepped onto the ramp. She was a muscular warrior that wore her shock trooper armor like a second skin. Fearsome in battle, no doubt, but just as mortal as the rest of their little assembly.

“This is Cara Dune, a friend. Cara, this is Boba Fett and Fennec Shand. They’ll help us with getting back the kid,” the Mandalorian said.

“Mando said you’re willing to go up against the Empire for him. Is that true?” Dune said to Boba.

“We’re in his debt,” Boba said.

“That must be quite a debt you owe him,” Dune said, raising her brows.

“A Mandalorian armor is priceless to its owner,” Fennec said.

“Cara, we need their help,” the Mandalorian said.

Dune was staring down Fennec, who was the only other human not wearing a helmet. Fennec looked back coolly at her. This was getting nowhere.

“Where are we headed next?” Boba cut in.

Dune turned her gaze from Fennec to Boba. “The Karthon Chop Fields. Do you know where it is?”

“I know its coordinates. What are we doing there?” Boba said.

“We have to pick up a prisoner who can help us locate Moff Giedon’s ship,” the Mandalorian said.

The prisoner, as it turned out, was an ex-Imperial sharpshooter named Migs Mayfeld with a propensity for idle chatter. Boba caught bits of Mayfeld’s inane one-sided conversations that drifted up from the passenger hold, and was glad for his own sanctuary up here in the cockpit. However, as _Slave I_ approached their destination, Morak, the Mandalorian asked Boba to go down to the passenger hold for a mission briefing.

The others had gathered in a loose circle. Boba took off his helmet as he joined them. Dune and Mayfeld stared openly at him.

“Fett, how much longer before we reach Morak?” the Mandalorian said.

“We’re approximately thir-” Boba said before Mayfeld interrupted him.

“Whoa, hold up. Aren’t we gonna talk about what just happened? I thought you aren’t supposed to take that thing off,” Mayfeld said.

Boba leveled Mayfeld with a look that sent Mayfeld cringing away from him. “You thought wrong.”

“Shut up, Mayfeld,” Dune said. It only roused Mayfeld from his short-lived silence.

“Me? I saw you staring too. You’re just as surprised as I am. Why am I treated as the odd man out?” Mayfeld exclaimed.

“Can we get back to the mission briefing?” Fennec said bluntly.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m all business.” Mayfeld’s expressive face turned somber. He had worked as a mercenary before his arrest. Fennec had carved out a name for herself as one of the best snipers employed by the Hutts during Imperial times. Mayfeld had known enough of her reputation to clam up whenever she was in his vicinity.

The mission on Morak was simple in its essence. All they had to go was to get into an Imperial base, access an Imperial terminal to obtain the coordinates of the Imperial cruiser, and get out of the base. It would be an easy one-man job if Boba could access the terminal himself without being compromised. In the end, it was agreed that the Mandalorian would accompany Mayfeld into the base, and Fennec and Dune would take out the anti-aircraft cannons near the base. Being the only one with a ship, Boba waited aboard _Slave I_ for his cue to initiate extraction. Less than an hour into the mission, he heard several explosions in the distance that shook the ground. It took another half an hour before Boba received his cue over the comm. He extracted Mayfeld and the Mandalorian successfully, and then landed _Slave I_ at the rendezvous point to pick up Fennec and Dune.

“We won’t be heading back to the Karthon Chop Fields,” the Mandalorian said, climbing through the hatch in the cockpit’s floor.

Boba looked out of the cockpit canopy. Mayfeld was walking away from _Slave I_ and towards a line of tree beyond the clearing where the ship was parked. Boba said, “What about the sharpshooter?”

“He’s held up his end of the deal,” the Mandalorian said. He handed Boba a data stick. “You’ll find the coordinates to Moff Gideon’s ship in here.”

Boba inserted the data stick into the piloting system. The coordinates lit up on the system’s screen. Boba locked in the coordinates and charted a course. There was a lesser-known hyperspace lane nearby that would shorten their travel time by at least a day. The Mandalorian silently watched him enter the details into the piloting system. With the course set, Boba flew _Slave I_ out of Morak, and into outer space.

“Greef Karga filled me in about you,” the Mandalorian said.

Boba switched off the maneuvering thrusters. He wouldn’t need them in hyperspace. “Should I know that name?”

“No, but he knows yours. He’s the Guild master of the Bounty Hunter Guild hub on Nevarro,” the Mandalorian said. “He said you used to work for the Empire before the fall.”

Noting the Mandalorian’s guarded tone, Boba allowed himself a small smile. It was gratifying to know that he was still remembered in the intervening years after the loss of his armor. One day, his name would be forgotten by the galaxy, but he had hoped that day would still be some way off, long after he had perished.

“You had no problem with recruiting an ex-Imperial for your last mission,” Boba said.

“I didn’t trust him either, but I knew what I was getting into when I requested his aid,” the Mandalorian said.

“You’d be hard-pressed to find a bounty hunter that was active back then and hadn’t worked for the Empire. The Guild used to be affiliated with the Empire,” Boba said. The other bounty hunters just hadn’t gotten as close to the ruling ranks of the Empire as he had. Despite knowing the answer, Boba asked, “Have you never taken an Imperial job?”

On Tatooine, Fennec had told Boba about what she had known about the Mandalorian when they had been tracking the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian had delivered his quarry and accepted his payment, only to turn on the Imperial client and take back the quarry in clear violation of the Guild Code. In retaliation, Imperials had occupied Nevarro and driven out the Guild hunters. 

“I have. It was a job that I regretted taking once I realized what the Imps would do to the child,” the Mandalorian said.

Regret was a strange word to hear from a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter’s involvement in a job ended as soon as credits had exchanged hands. Lucrative bounties had bought the conscience of many bounty hunters, and, if not their conscience, then the means for them to drown out that annoyingly self-righteous voice in their head. It did a bounty hunter no good to concern himself with the welfare of his quarry after the quarry had been delivered. To finish and then renege on a job, like what the Mandalorian had done, would only ruin a profitable business relationship. And for what? Quarries were worthless to anyone but the clients who paid for their capture. Bounty hunters were tasked with catching bail jumpers, escaped convicts, and various scums of the galaxy, rarely something innately valuable like the child of an unknown species.

Or the Darksaber, the Weapon of the One That Will Unite All of Mandalore.

(“Just a myth propagated by the traitors who stole it from the Jedi, Boba,” his father had said dismissively. “That’s all there is to it.”)

(As a child, Boba’s favorite bedtime stories had been the stories of his two grandfathers. His birth-grandfather had been a Journeyman Protector. His found-grandfather had been the Mand’alor, the rightful ruler of Mandalore. Both had been slain by Mandalorian traitors, who had then sold his father into slavery.)

(Boba had served as a Journeyman Protector, a lifetime ago. He still wore the emblem on his chest plate.)

(“I carry on their legacies,” his father had said.)

(Years ago, Boba had scoffed at the rumors of a self-proclaimed Mand’alor wielding the Darksaber to unite all Mandalorians under one banner against the tyranny of the Empire. Several months later, all of Mandalore had burnt under one banner.)

(“And one day it’ll fall to you to carry on their legacies,” his father had said.)

A half-formed idea crossed Boba’s mind. 

“I had many clients. I sold my services to anyone that could afford my rates. The Empire was just one of them,” Boba said evenly. His face didn’t betray his thoughts. “If you have doubts about me, why do you retain my service? You could’ve found other transport on Nevarro.”

“You took out those stormtroopers on Tython. I’ll need your help in the upcoming fight against Moff Gideon,” the Mandalorian said.

Boba’s face was reflected in the Mandalorian’s silvery helmet and darkened visor. It would’ve been intimidating to anyone that hadn’t seen the inside of a Mandalorian helmet. Boba was lost temporarily in the familiar eyes reflected on the polished beskar. His father’s eyes. No, his own eyes.

The Mandalorian continued, “Can I count on you?”

“You’ll get your child back. You have my word,” Boba said, and he meant it.

The Mandalorian would have the child and Boba would have the artifact. As to what would happen to the artifact afterwards, well, the Imperials were hardly rolling in credits these days. They were hiding in the Outer Rim like rats and gnawing on barren worlds that had already been sucked dry of resources. Not exactly a client that was worth keeping. Boba would deal with them after they paid him. For now, he knew one thing for certain.

“I always finish the job.”


End file.
